A Tortured Silence
by Rosebleed
Summary: A story about Rogue, you must read to find out. I'm new so be nice. ryrosorta if you squint real hard


hey, this is my first fic, so be nice. And i gave Rogue a brother, just because i can. Ryro-ish sorta. Constructive critisim only please!

* * *

You look out the frosted window and wonder, what sin did I commit to earn such a punishment. Those around you speak of your curse as if it were a gift. "A gift," you say, "I don't believe I asked for it." Soon your beliefs are different than theirs. You give up the idea of a normal existence and hold fierce anger in you heart. You isolate yourself; begin to spend nights on the street and taking an assortment of drugs to calm you. Of course they always find you, bring you back to the mansion, and you are scolded by Logan for running again. Since that day you have been filled with regret over not leaving with him, for now having to spend the next fucking year here in this prison. You now have to deal with your choice, your mistake, 'cause now you're stuck.

One day you are approached by that man and his blue companion. You chuckle to yourself, wondering if they are lovers for they are never apart. Then you remind your self, you hate him, he tried to kill you, you shouldn't be swayed by what he's saying. But you are. He offers a proposition, he'll give you the ability to touch if, you come to his side of this oncoming war. Your hearts pulls you to take the proposition, but your head is still reminding you of your hate from him. He reminds you that the professor promised to give you your touch, but then recanted what he said, "It is impossible, I'm afraid." Those words of realization still burn you. Before you can give you answer _they_ come. They once again force you to return, it is plain to you now. There is no way out, not now anyway. So you wait, bide your time looking for a chance to escape. Days turn to weeks and then months, but still no getaway. You become desperate, continually isolating yourself. Your take a razor to your arm every night to help you compose yourself, at least so you can walk around the mansion without attracting attention. You've slipped from your friends and cannot remember the last letter from your brother, or the last time you actually sat down and talked to Logan. After a year, you know there is never going to b a chance. There is no way out of this eternal hell you entrapped yourself in. It occurs to you one day, the solution, the way out. You plan it out, decide on being theatrical something they will ALWAYS remember you want it to haunt them for the rest of their lives. You want them to suffer; you want them to know that they did it to you, it's their fault. On a Friday night you retire to your room early and begin to prepare. You clean your room and make your bed in a special way. Then you bath in lavender, shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. Every time they smell lavender they'll be reminded. You then dress in white, the color of purity. You wear a simple white summer dress, much like the ones of your youth. Then you display the cuts on your arms and legs so they'll know what you've been doing, and feel even more guilt ridden. You then write 3 letters, to the ones you care about, your brother, your guardian, and your friend that you wished could have been more, the few people you'll actually miss. Your place the three envelopes next to your gloves on the dresser, your gloves you muse _I won't need them where I'm going_, you think bitterly. You take gun, the combat pistol you spent you savings on. You sit on you bed and stare at it, then set it down. _One more thing to do,_ you think and you take the paint brush with bright red paint and write on your wall YOUR FAULT. You lie on you bed, then sit of you take some of the black roses you got and hold them, then point the pistol towards your forehead. You say a short prayer and squeeze the trigger. For a moment you feel the white hot burning sensation on your forehead, then the never-ending blackness and bliss. You are Rogue and this is you demise.


End file.
